


Peter Maximoff One Shots

by VioletNightmare



Category: Peter Maximoff - Fandom, X-Men
Genre: F/M, Fanfiction, X-men - Freeform, peter maximoff - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-08-28 12:30:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 15
Words: 19,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8445889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VioletNightmare/pseuds/VioletNightmare
Summary: Peter Maximoff x ReaderPrompt: Peter wants to confess his feelings to the reader, who is notorious for napping at any given time during the day. Every time he looks for her, he finds her asleep.Mutant Ability: The ability to project dreams onto other people in order to calm of frighten them





	1. A Change

_**Soulmate AU:** Starting from birth, an identical tattoo slowly appears on the arm of each soulmate, spiraling up the arm. Until the soulmates meet, the tattoo is in black and white, but after it becomes colourful. When the tattoo reaches the shoulder, it means you meet your soulmate within the week._

 

**Violet**

Violet was horrified. Terrified. Her tattoo should be _at least_ up to her elbow, but it wasn’t. It had halted roughly two inches above her wrist when she was seven, and it was even fading. The experts said her soulmate had died — they’d even searched their databases and matched the tattoo to a dead boy that used to go to school at the Xavier Institute, which was the school she had been accepted to. Her worst fear had been realized. She had no soulmate.

~

**Peter**

Peter was different. All the other kids at the Xavier Institute had a tattoo in varying degrees of colour and progression. He didn’t. Even _Hank_ had one, and he was, well, blue and furry. He didn’t have a soulmate. What idiot upstairs decided that? Truth be told, Peter had always been fine being different. This, however, was a whole new level. He would never have what Scott and Jean have, or what the Professor and Moira have, and he was scared. Peter was different, alright, and, for once, he hated it.

 

Peter nearly fell over the day she stepped into his classroom. Correction, he _did_ fall over. Right out of his desk. _That_ got her attention, alright. He had even sworn, earning a smile from her and a detention from Professor X. He hadn’t really minded, however.

Violet was her name, and her eyes dared you to comment on it. They were the colour of lilacs, her eyes. Not that he noticed. Much. He was enthralled by her presence, her ‘fuck off’ attitude. Peter had always developed crushes quickly, but when her first words to him were 'hello, dipshit,’ he’d known. He was whipped. So whipped. And all she’d done was smile and say hello, dipshit.

~

**Violet**

She was going crazy. He was annoying, sarcastic, and a little shit. He made jokes at inappropriate times and they made her laugh. She hated it. And yet, she didn’t. He was driving her insane. His dark eyes had danced with mirth through strands of his silver hair the day she’d arrived. The day he’d fallen out of his chair.

Peter Maximoff, he’d introduced himself as, but she could call him anything she’d wanted. The intent behind the joke was not lost on her, but she hadn’t been able to help smiling and saying, 'hello, dipshit.’ Dipshit. Her first words to the cute asshole were 'hello, dipshit.’ Somehow, she didn’t regret it.

 

 

They’d talked several times over the course of the next two weeks, and their banter had only gotten worse. The Professor had started pairing them together for projects because Peter was loud and she was quiet, but it backfired on him. It turns out that the two of them together make even more of a disturbance than Peter by himself.

She’d watched him as they talked, her eyes taking in his every feature. She knew she was screwed. She’d known it that first day when she called him dipshit. She didn’t dare say anything, however. After all, everyone has their own soulmate. Everyone except her.

~

**Peter**

It was a normal night of walking the grounds with her that he found out she didn’t have a soulmate.

 

 

It was something they’d been doing for a couple of months now, just to get away from the night noise of the mansion. They’d just walk. Sometimes, they’d run. He’d discovered early on not to underestimate Violet, but learning she could shift her genes to match his running speed had been something else. Sure, he’d know she could shift into any living thing, even change her permanent appearance if she wanted, but being able to match his pace? He’d almost fallen over again.

That night was particularly interesting, for it was raining a bit and all she had was a flannel to keep her warm. He had, of course, offered her his jacket. She hadn’t refused. He’d known he’d eventually become chilled to the bone, but he didn’t care. Not one bit. It was then that she’d seen his arm and he’d seen hers.

Her tattoo was barely visible, spanning maybe two inches from her wrist. Her soulmate had died. Her tattoo was fading away. His never existed in the first place.

 

Over the next few months, he learned even more about her. She felt safer with him than most of the others, he knew. She didn’t shy away from him like she did with Scott or Warren. She was loud and laughing and confident. Until you really got to know her.

Peter didn’t care, however. He reassured her at every turn. Even when she told him how, one day, she’d tried to leave the world. He’d simply held her as she cried and whispered how important she was, her hands tangled in his hair.

It was that night that they both noticed something. A change. Violet was calm, they were watching a horror movie. It was, in truth, Violet who noticed it first.

“Peter, I’m a wreck.”

“Ah, but you’re _my_ wreck, Vi.”

She’d hugged him then, curling up next to him. There was no other way to show her appreciation than that. Something changed then. They both knew it. Violet knew it when she hugged him and he knew it when she stayed there for the rest of the night.

~

**Violet**

She loved Peter. She knew it. Hell, she’d known it for weeks. And, you know, she was pretty sure he loved her too. So she went to work. Screw whoever controls love. Screw whatever idiot that predetermines the love of your life.

Everyone said your soulmate could be the only one you loved. Even if your soulmate died, you weren’t supposed to love anyone else. She wasn’t having it. She spent a month on the project before she was finished. She was finished down to each colour, to each line, to each little detail.

She refused, however, to show it to Peter. Especially since she wasn’t positive of where he stood. So she kept it. She kept it and waited.

 

Her wait was not a long one. Five days after the completion of the project, Peter kissed her. Well, by all rights, the situation was an accident. He tripped over some of her books and landed on top of her. What happened after that, however, was _not_ an accident.

“And here I was thinking you were a bottom,” she joked, eyes sparkling with amusement. His eyes danced.

“Well, I’m just full of surprises.” He’d kissed her then, both of them losing themselves in the moment. She distinctly remembered he’d tasted of Twinkies when she’d kissed him back.

~

**Peter**

He was returning a book of hers one night a month later when he saw it. The corner of a drawing poking out of a large folder.

“Babe, what’s this?” Her eyes had widened and she’d bitten her lip as he’d opened the folder. His eyes had quickly moved over the page before glancing up at her. “You designed this?” She’d nodded timidly, hands in her pockets. “Babe, this is awesome!”

It was a tattoo design, lightning designed to spiral down the arm, static electricity brimming off the tendrils of raw power. Violets decorated the strands, petals singed and falling. It was him. And her. The both of them blended together in a tattoo.

~

**Violet**

He kissed her, probably for the thousandth time that day, but this time is was different. He always kissed her like he meant it, but this time it was more. She could tell. He loved her, she knew, and he showed it often. His hands had been forever on her this past month, and he was forever bragging. His kisses always made her feel loved, but _this_ kiss…

She was kissing him back hungrily, her hands tangled in his hair and his hands pressed tightly to her back. And one kiss turned to two. Two turned to five and five turned to cuddling in her bed. And that turned into clinging to each other. She could smell the faint scent of leather and junk food on his clothes, and, to her, it was the best smell in the world.

 

A month later they both had the tattoo.

~

**Peter**

He watched as her pencil danced across the page, her dark hair falling over her face. She was wearing his shirt and boxers and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t turned on. He’d woken up to the sound of her pencil scratching across a piece of paper, and he’d known she was drawing again.

“Hey babe?” His eyes followed her movements as she put the finishing touches on her sketch. It’s been three years since they met, and two and a half since they began dating.

“Hm?”

“How 'bout we get married?”

“Hey, what do you think of— _what_?” She’d turned around in his desk chair, drawing in hand, with wide eyes. He looks it over, awed at her skill as always. It was him, asleep in the bed. His hair was splayed over his parted lips, his eyes shut lightly.

“Hey, that’s epic, babe! I keep telling you that you could make a living—” She glares at him, but she’s smiling.

“Pete.” He grins, dark eyes dancing. She gets this distant look and he knows she’s remembering that first day. Her fingers splayed over the tattoo, a grin spreading over her face. She put the drawing back on the desk.

“So, babe? How about it? Marry me?” He tosses a ring her way and she catches it with an expertise that can only come from living with his habit of throwing food when he’s mocking her. He half expected her to throw it right back, just as she would a half-eaten Twinkie, but she didn’t. She smiled, slipping the ring on her finger.

“Yeah, I think I will.” A sly grin slips onto her features, replacing her dreamy one. “Even though you are a dipshit.”

He tackled her to the floor, peppering her in kisses and tickling her sides until she couldn’t breathe anymore.

~

They were soulmates in more ways than one, and no one could tell them otherwise.


	3. Sweet Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter Maximoff x Reader
> 
> Prompt: Peter wants to confess his feelings to the reader, who is notorious for napping at any given time during the day. Every time he looks for her, he finds her asleep.
> 
> Mutant Ability: The ability to project dreams onto other people in order to calm of frighten them

  Peter took a deep breath, pulling on his silver jacket. It was time to find you at the Institute’s Chem lab, of all places. He wondered if you’d be awake this time, or if he’d find you slumped over, your lips slightly open, your (Y/E/C) eyes closed peacefully, and your (Y/H/C) hair splayed around you. He wished desperately that it was the first option. Because of your abilities, (Y/N) was constantly asleep, and when you weren’t he always lost his nerve. You mesmerized him in everything you did, and he’d been trying for months to figure out how to tell you how he felt. Your powers were becoming an increasingly frustrating obstacle, however.

  He moved to the lab, his dark eyes searching for your frame. His heart fell as he saw you. Asleep. Again. Sighing, he sank down into the seat across from you, wondering vaguely what you were dreaming of, what reality you were in. What you would be able to do when you woke up.

“Really, Maximoff?” He turned to see Scott standing behind him, shaking his head. “Why do you even try? You know Y/N is going to be asleep.”

“Don’t go there, Summers.” Scott rolled his eyes and walked away, leaving him alone with you. He shook his head. Scott had no room to question him, not on this. He watched you for a moment longer before getting up and moving away. He’d have to try again another day.

~

  Of course you were asleep again. He couldn’t seem to catch a break, no matter how much he lingered. You’d just been so busy these past few weeks that every time he worked up his nerve, you were either sleeping or had to go. As fast as he was, he always seemed to be too late. **  
**

  He sighed for what must’ve been the millionth time that week. He liked you. No, he loved you. He was sure of that. He had always fallen hard and fast, but this was different. You drove him crazy and he was positive this wasn’t a fleeting thing. You distracted him, and you could match his humor without blinking. You made his heart beat fast and his head spin, and that meant something. Even Kurt had noticed, which was saying quite a bit.

“You realize that, outside of when Y/N is in her room, you two spend all your time together? And you still haven’t told her?” He rolled his eyes at Jean as she said the words.

“Perfection can’t be rushed.”

~

  _The world melted around you as you ran, covered in blood. His blood. Your heartbeat was erratic and you couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. God, what had you done? It should’ve been you, not him._

  _You ran further, trying to get away. You had to get away. You had to be faster than even him. You threw out your hands, attempting to block the onslaught of obstacles in front of you. Shadows poured from your hands, engulfing all in your path, suffocating everything. Suffocating you._

_It should have been you._

  You remembered the dream in vivid detail as you sat on your bed, staring at the ceiling. It had been the worst one in a while, involving not only your eventual death by your uncontrollable power, but Peter’s. That was what had shaken you. You could’ve handled the nightmare, really. You’d handled similar ones before. You’d drowned and been drowned, stabbed and been stabbed. Sometimes they weren’t like that at all. Sometimes you rode dragons or fell in love or lived a happy life. Those were easy to handle. The one from before, that was the difficult one.

  You’d never dreamed of causing a friend’s death, accidental or otherwise. Especially not someone important to you. You huffed, brushing your hair from your face. It was going to be a long day.

**_~1 Week and several Failed Attempts Later~_ **

  You had been awake for hours, refusing to sleep. How could you sleep after that nightmare? Sometimes, you loved your powers and the dreams that came with it, but this was not one of those times.

  You’d recently been having more and more dreams about Peter, and not all of them were good. You’d been able to handle them so far, but last night’s dream had been different. Last night he’d loved you, and you him. Last night he had taken bullets for you, and you’d cried. Last night you’d held him as he died, felt the life leave his body and seen the light leave his eyes. Your fault.

  You woke up drenched in sweat, your heart pounding. You’d been tempted to seek him out - he is your best friend after all - but you chose to stay in your bed. And so now here you were, exhausted. You’ve been up for seventeen consecutive hours, something you haven’t done since you were a child. You wondered vaguely if Peter was awake. _Probably,_ you reasoned, _he’s always up late._

  Peter was wondering exactly how he was going to confess to you when you knocked on his door. He was surprised to see you there as Jean had told everyone that you were sick and not to be bothered.

“Y/N? What’s going on?” His dark eyes flickered with concern, and you took a deep breath.

“I can’t sleep. I haven’t slept for seventeen hours.” You can see the magnitude of the words register on his face, and he gestures for you to enter the room. You could cut the tension with a knife as he shut the door behind you.

“Y/N? Are you okay?” You stare at his face, sitting down on his bed, head in hands. You couldn’t take this anymore, not looking at his concerned face. You burst into tears. “Y/N?” His voice is soft and you feel him next to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. Oh, God, why did it have to be him?

“I’m sorry, Pete, it’s been a long day.” You could feel his eyes on you, and you knew he knew you were lying.

“Y/N, you can tell me. What was in that dream?” Your mind flashes back, the intensity of the dream returning to you in full. Suddenly, he felt it. He saw it.

  He felt the sharp pain in your heart as you watched him die in your arms, the hollow ache of _‘it’s my fault’._ He felt you loving him. His breath caught in his throat as you managed to regain control over your powers. You look at him in horror, tears still running down your face.

“I didn't…. I didn’t mean to, I—!”

“Y/N, it’s okay. It’s okay.” His arm tightened around you and you leaned your head on his shoulder. The two of you stay like that for a long time, unspoken words passing between you. Until Peter breaks the silence.

“Y/N?”

“Hm?” You muttered, your eyes closed. He ran his hands through your hair, sending a tingling, calming sensation down your spine.

“I love you.” You merely moaned in response, shifting slightly. Peter snorted, laughing at his luck.

You were asleep.


	4. Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter Maximoff x Reader
> 
> Prompt: Your powers cause you to have violent nightmares from which no one can wake you.
> 
> Powers: You can enter the minds of others and make them relive their worst nightmares.
> 
> A/N: I pulled this one from a personal place, so bear with me here.
> 
> Warning(s): Angst (I wasn’t sure what this classified as so just be careful)

**Peter**

  Your screams echoed through the mansion, rousing even the deepest of sleepers. He sat up, fully alert. Not that he was sleeping well anyway. Your screams were horrifying, blood-curling screams. He’d known you for years, known about your nightmares, but he hadn’t expected this. You’d been at the mansion for three days due to his urging. After all, when someone began accidentally projecting their powers, they needed help. And so, at his request, you were here.

  He stood up, moving out of his dark, messy room and into the hallway. There were others peeking out from their doors. Some, such as the younger students, were frightened, but others simply looked annoyed. The floor was cool beneath his bare feet as he padded down the hallway slowly, avoiding the opening doors and quiet chatter of the other students. The closer he got to the source of the scream, the colder it got.

  It wasn’t your fault, really. Your powers caused the air to chill around you, sometimes even when you weren’t using them. That’s what the power of being able to make people relive their worst fears was. It was chilling and dangerous and it caused you to have more anxiety than normal. He moved closer, ignoring the growing chill. He was the one who had brought you here, and he should be the one to help.

  You’d warned the Professor that this would happen, the screaming. You’d warned him that you most likely wouldn’t wake up from the nightmare until it was over. Yet he had pleaded with the Professor to help you, and so you were here.

  He arrived at your door to find the Professor there, tired eyes looking at your door. Between your nightmares and Jean’s he was often up at ungodly hours. Another scream emitted from your room, and he looked over at the Professor, who gestured to the door. Sometimes it was very useful to have someone who could know what you wanted without you having to say it. He gripped the door handle, ignoring the icy-coldness of it, and turned the handle. If it hadn’t been you, he would’ve shut the door and left.

  The cold sucked the air from his lungs and chilled him to the bone. This was cold he’d never felt before. Bitter, unforgiving, harsh cold. He took a breath, stepping into the room. This was Y/N, his best friend. There was no turning back. His dark eyes landed on your bed, and he saw you through strands of his silver hair. The momentary shock nearly froze him in place.

  You were thrashing around in the bed, (Y/E/C) eyes rolled back into your head and your (Y/H/C) hair splayed around your head in a sort halo. Your features were ridden with fear and agony and he couldn’t think. He stared, wondering how someone so beautiful could be in so much pain. He took another slow breath.

_Move, Peter, you’ve got to move._

  So he did moved, perching lightly on the side of your bed. He placed his hand lightly on the chilled skin of your arm.

“Y/N? It’s Peter.”

**Charles Xavier**

  He watched as Peter spoke, his tired eyes fixated on the scene before him. Peter’s voice was soft and gentle and worried, more so than any time he’d ever heard the boy speak. He watched as Peter’s hand gently brushed your arm. It must’ve been an agonizingly slow movement for Peter, he knew.

“Y/N, I know you told us you wouldn’t wake up from these nightmares, but I thought I’d try. Besides, you’re going to give us all hypothermia.” He watched as Peter talked and talked and talked, his mouth never stopping unless except to pause for air. He told stories of his childhood, of your childhood, of the one time he accidentally stole your dollar. He described dreams and feelings and sunsets and how it feels to run as fast as he does. He described the way music affected him and how you made him want to go slowly for once. He talked for hours.

  A crowd had formed around him and the doorway as he’d watched and listened. There they all stood, watching as Peter talked and your thrashing slowly stopped. Your eyes slowly returned to their natural position and closed and your body slackened. Still, Peter talked.

  Somewhere along the way, the crowd dispersed; perhaps understanding the magnitude of the scene they had just witnessed a part of. Perhaps it was enough to hear the way Peter spoke to you to tell them that to watch more was an invasion of privacy.

 

**Peter**

  His throat was raw and dry and his voice was cracking, but he kept talking. He was afraid that if he stopped talking your nightmare would begin again. So he talked. And talked. He talked until sunlight broke through the curtains.

  So began a ritual. Every night that you would scream, he would get up and talk to you until the sun rose. And, every night, even though he would not find this out until much later, the Professor and some students would gather around the doorway and listen for a while.

  He was exhausted, he knew, but he wasn’t sure he minded. It was helping Y/N when he talked her through her nightmares, and that was good enough for him.

  One week was particularly bad, however. You had a nightmare every night, sometimes even having a second one after he managed to dispel the first, and he got very little sleep. You, of course, noticed. He didn’t have an explanation.

 

**Y/N**

“Peter?” You shook his shoulder lightly, and his eyes opened sleepily. “Are you alright?” You were concerned. Very concerned. You were pretty sure you loved Peter, and you’d only seen him like this once before.

“Yeah, just tired. I haven’t gotten much sleep.”

“Well that’s obvious, and not what I meant. I have an excuse. What’s yours?”

“Just worry, Y/N, I’m just worried.”

 

**Peter**

  There wasn’t any screaming this time. No, this time there was only extreme cold. He sat up, the cold numbing his movements. It had never gotten this far before, never this cold this far. And it was only getting colder. He found the Professor in the hallway, coming toward his room with worry etched onto his face.

“You need to move everyone in this wing out. Especially if they’re close to her room. They’ll freeze to death.”

“Wolverine’s already working on it, but he’s having trouble. A lot of the kids are thrashing.”

“Y/N’s mass projecting?” His heart nearly stopped then and there. This wasn’t good. So very, very far from good. He took off toward your room, and Charles’ voice rang in his head.

_She’s done this before?_

_Once._ He’d never witnessed one of your nightmares, but he had witnessed the time you’d been in a traumatic incident. You’d accidentally mass-projected onto everyone within a mile radius, including him. It wasn’t something he liked to remember.

  He was frozen to the bone by the time he reached your room, and he couldn’t feel most of his fingers or toes. He gripped your doorknob, yanking the door open. The cold surged from the room, and he stepped in. There was ice irradiating from the bed, creeping down the bed, across the floor, up the walls. He moved carefully, trying not to slip. You were thrashing and bone cold and he could feel fear creeping into his brain. Projection. He touched your arm, flinching as his hand burned from the cold.

“Y/N, you’ve got to wake up.” And he began talking and talking and talking, his voice getting faster as the fear began to creep further into his mind. What if you died? What if he lost you? What if you died not knowing how much he loved you? He was freezing and he could barely breathe and he was running out of things to say. He crawled onto the bed, pulling you into his lap and holding you still. He kept talking. Your fingernails caught his arm, causing him to hiss in pain, but he did not let you go. “Y/N, I know you can hear me.” The cold was getting oppressive and the fear was all-consuming. “Y/N, I love you.”

  You froze, going completely rigid before falling back limp. The fear seeped slowly out of his mind as the ice retracted slowly, disappearing into nothing. He moved you slowly off of his lap, standing  up. He was bone-weary and he felt quite strongly like he was going to throw up.

 

**Y/N**

_The thing grew closer, clawing at you, at what was left of you. You were sobbing, bleeding, unable to think. Where was he? Why wasn’t he there? Was he dead? Was it your fault?_

_You feel claws dig into your legs and cry out, feeling every inch of the creature’s long, thick claws dig into your skin. Why were they after you? Why was it always you? You fell to the ground and the creatures were upon you, digging into your flesh. You screamed and screamed but no one heard you. No one came._

_Suddenly, the creatures were gone_ _and you were being held in someone’s arms. The pain was gone, replaced by warmth and gentle touch. ‘Y/N,’ the person whispered, soothing you, 'I love you.’_

  Your eyes open and you take a deep breath, shooting into a sitting position. Your breathing is heavy as you sit up, looking around. No one. You lean back onto your pillow. A dream. Just a dream. No, a nightmare.

  You stand shakily, wrapping your arms around your body. You’re freezing, as usual, and feel hollow, as usual. You step quietly outside of your room, the floor that should be cold feeling warm under your feet. You make your way to his room, opening the door quietly.

“Peter?” He’s sitting on his bed, his head in one hand and the other pressed tightly onto the bed. “Peter, why are you—?” You step closer, moving to stand in front of him.

“Your nightmare,” he said quietly, lifting his head to look at you. He looks like hell. “Never mind, just come here.” He pulls you into a tight hug, his body shaking.

“You were there,” you whisper, “you saved me.” He holds you for a long time, neither of you moving.

“I talk to you. Every time you have a nightmare, I talk to you until it ends.” His voice is tired and soft and weary. “I talk to you and your nightmare ends and I love you, Y/N.” You’re breath hitches and you can feel your heart pounding. You don’t pull away. You don’t even think before responding. You just do.

“I love you too, Peter.”

  There were no nightmares after that, not awful ones. There were small ones, ones that were less terrifying but still left you scared senseless, but when you woke up you knew he’d be there. You knew he’d always be there.

And that was enough.


	5. Burning Jealousy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter Maximoff x Reader
> 
> Prompt: You and Scott are close childhood best friends and Peter, who has slowly become another close friend, becomes increasingly jealous of Scott as his feelings for you grow, and keeps pranking him; at least, until you catch him.
> 
> Warning(s): very mild swearing?

**Y/N**

  You sighed, leaning back in Scott’s car seat. You weren’t sure about this, not at all, even though Scott had explained the this ‘Professor Xavier’ wouldn’t access your mind without permission. You could control your powers decently enough, why did you have to go to this school? You swallowed another sigh, knowing exactly why. You’d known Scott since the two of you were little, not to mention his brother Alex, and if Scott, the most arrogant, hard-headed idiot around was asking her to try this, you’d try it.

  You watched the scenery pass, your (Y/H/C) hair whipping around your face. Scott hadn’t told you much about the place, only that it was a school for mutants, like you. You remembered the situation that had made you agree to come in the first place.

  You’d been at school when it happened, just trying to walk down the hallway. You were on the phone with Scott when the school’s bitch had walked up and shoved you. Needless to say, your short temper had flared and you’d not only burned your phone to a crisp but also caught yours and the girl’s books on fire. Then you lit her backpack on fire. It hadn’t been the first time your temper had caused you to accidentally light things on fire, but you had insisted to Scott that it would be the last. He hadn’t believed you, and so here you were, riding in a car to a school in Westchester County, New York, with your hands in fireproof gloves. You can’t burn yourself with fire, but burning everything else is a very real possibility.

“You’ll love it, Y/N, I promise.” You look over at Scott, his eyes trained on the road. This was your best friend, and you trusted him.

“I believe you, Scott.”

~

  True to Scott’s word, you did love the school, although it turned out to double as a mansion. You hadn’t been exactly sure what to say when Scott drove up to the place and students had come tumbling out, so you’d merely hidden behind him. You may have a sharp temper and the balls to back it, but you were shy all the same.

  You’d slowly opened up due to the combined efforts of Scott and the idiot known as Peter who’d nearly run into you on your first day.

_“Is it hot in here, or is that just you?” He’d looked at you with a smirk on his face, and you’d simply grinned slyly, taking off a glove. Your hand burst into flames in front of his face._

_“I think that’s just me.”_

  The two of you had become fast friends after that, although he always got defensive around Scott. You’d shrugged it off as simply Peter being Peter.

 

**Peter**

  He was seething, absolutely seething. Scott grated on his nerves for the longest time, but now he was even _more_ annoying, if that was possible. He certainly didn’t deserve _you_. You were gorgeous, an angel with a devil’s sense of humor. And the ability to light things on fire. Come on, who _wouldn’t_ love that?

  And that was exactly the problem, everyone loved you, including him, but you were Scott’s best friend. There was only one thing to do about it, he decided, smirking. One very, very entertaining thing to do about it.

 

**Y/N**

  You couldn’t understand it. Scott had been having… trouble lately. And by trouble you meant someone’s been pranking him. He’d had his car egged, his room wrecked, water placed above a door he’d walked through - which you had to admit, had been funny - as well as tripped, had his books replaced with goo _and_ the all-classic walk-into-plastic-wrap that’s attached to a doorway. You had to admit, whoever was doing this, while it was entertaining at first, was getting annoying. You’d almost gotten caught in a prank meant for Scott at one point, and that had been the final straw.

  You sighed, walking to class alone. Scott had been caught in yet _another_ prank, and had to go back to his room to clean up, leaving you to walk to class alone. You stared at your free hand, feeling the fire burn beneath your skin. Sighing again, you turned the corner, running straight into Peter. _Peter._ You felt your body heat up. He’d quickly become your crush, and you couldn’t help but marvel at how good he looked today.

“Y/N? What are you doing here?” Peter asked you hastily, shifting on his feet. You recognized that look in his eye and narrow your own (Y/E/C) eyes at him.

“Peter Maximoff, _I_ am going to class, what in God’s name are _you_ doing?”

“Um…” He avoided your eyes.

“Peter, if you run from me right now I _will_ light your ass on fire.” He turns an embarrassing shade of red.

“I _might_ have been setting up a prank.” He mutters the words, but they’re loud enough for you to hear them _perfectly._

“That prank wouldn’t just _happen_ to be for Scott, would it?”

“ _Maybe…_ ” You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose with two fingers.

“Peter Maximoff, you’re the one who’s been tormenting Scott? _Please,_ for my sanity, explain.” He takes a deep breath.

“ImaybesortofgotjealousofScott.” His words are said so quickly that it takes you a moment to process them.

“ _You?_ Jealous of _Scott?_ For the love of all that’s holy, _why?_ ” He shifts on his feet.

“Well, ‘cause of you.”

“ _Me?_ ” Comprehension dawns on you then, and you turn fire-truck red. “Peter, you’ve got nothing to be jealous of.” His brows furrow.

“What do you-?” The rest of the question is lost as you press your lips to his lightly, tangling your finger in his hair. You feel your skin heat up as he kisses you back gently. You pull away, your face burning and your eyes lidded.

“Told ya.” His grin lit his adorable face up, and you couldn’t help but grin back.


	6. Cold Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter Maximoff x Reader
> 
> Prompt: Peter’s interaction with the reader after an accident resulting in memory loss
> 
> Warning(s): None

He woke up to a cold bed. **  
**

It wasn’t unusual, he knew, but it still unnerved him. You were his world, and when you hurt, he felt helpless. He slid out of bed, moving slowly across his room and out into the hall. The air was cold as he moved, and he knew where to find you. His silver hair fell into his face and he pushed it back, slipping out the doors to the mansion. You were where you always were when you got this way: the lake. He moved silently toward the lake, stopping at the edge.

  The water was frozen, despite the humid summer air. Such was the nature of your abilities. He looked out across the frozen lake, eyes landing on you. Your (Y/E/C) eyes were closed as you glided across the lake, you (Y/H/C) hair flowing behind you and your arms extended. He sighed, sitting down on the frozen grass. He knew better than to walk out onto the ice to you. Not when you barely remembered him.

  He watched you glide effortlessly across the ice you made, your movements graceful. He wondered why you were out there this time, which memory had surfaced to cause you to go out onto the ice again. His dark eyes followed you as you glided, mind wandering. He hadn’t noticed your visits to freeze the lake until one night he’d woken to feel cold air in the summer. After you’d hit your head and lost your memories, you’d remembered only your powers and you’d created trauma blocks in your mind that even Charles couldn’t get past. He could give you memories from the time you set foot in the mansion with some of the others filling in the rest, but the rest would have to come back on their own time. It broke him that you didn’t remember him, remember what the two of you had shared, but he loved you, and so he respected you.

  He knew that you would eventually stop as the memory became less of a shock and would come back over to him, but he still worried. He knew you, knew you would never tell anyone how bad it truly was in your mind, and so he knew you were struggling more than you let on. He was worried about you more than he let on, so he supposed it evened itself out somewhere, but that didn’t stop the chain. He didn’t know if you loved him, if you remembered loving him, but he always came out to watch you anyway. Your eyes opened and landed on him, and a smile crept onto your face.

“Peter,” you said as you arrived in front of him. You offered him a hand, and his eyes widened. He wasn’t supposed to be watching you, he knew. He accepted anyway, locking your fingers.

“Y/N? What-?”

“Shut up and glide.” He marveled at you as the two of you skated across the ice, him guided by your hand.

“Y/N, are you sure-?”

“Pete, trust me here.” So he did. You hadn’t called him ‘Pete’ since the accident, and so he shut his mouth and gripped your hand, matching your movements. You stop in the center of the lake, pulling him close. You took a deep breath. “I don’t have all of my memories. I don’t know what happened to me as a child, or what my favourite colour is-”

“(Y/F/C).” You smiled, shaking your head.

“Anyway, when this all started, Charles gave me memories from everyone, especially you. At the time, I wasn’t ready to accept it. I didn’t truly remember loving you.” You closed your eyes. “And I still don’t.” He felt a pang in his heart as he searched your face. “But I don’t need to remember to understand how I feel.”

“Y/N-”

“Peter Maximoff if you say one more word before I’m done I will unfreeze this ice and drop you into the lake.” he closed his mouth, suppressing a grin.

“I know you love me, the memories I got from Xavier were definitely convincing.” Your eyes looked over his face, and he knew _exactly_ the moment you were remembering. “You love me, and, even though I don’t remember it, I know that… that I love you, and if I never get all my memories back, at least I know that.” He stared at you in awe, squeezing your hand.

You kissed him then, and nothing else mattered. Not his worry, not your lost memories or anything else. Because you loved him and he loved you, and that was all that mattered.


	7. Till Death Do Us Part

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter Maximoff x Reader
> 
> Warning(s): This deals with deadly sickness, so be careful please.
> 
> A/N: This subject matter hits really close to home for me, and I’m sorry in advance.

He loved you.

  
You were his entire world, his galaxy, his universe. Your eyes were star and your body itself was the manifestation of perfection from your looks to your soul. He would never understand how he had come to deserve you. You were everything.

When he met you, you were as vibrant and radiant as the sun and as soft and gentle as a flower. You laughed lightly and loved deeply and he knew the moment he saw you that you would be all that mattered to him. And you were.

He remembered your first date, when the two of you had gone to the movies and ended up in a holding cell, giggling like children. It wasn’t your fault you’d vandalized the car. He smiled, remembering the look on your face as your anger at stubbing your toe manifested in the destruction of a nearby car. It had been glorious.

He remembered your first year anniversary, and the way it had landed on Scott’s birthday and how he’d ended up covered in cake during a food fight. He distinctly remembered you smiling as you threw more cake at his face.

He remembered your first fight, the day you slammed the door to your room in his face and the screaming became forced silence. He remembered apologizing more times than he could count, remembered how you’d cried when the two of you had made up.

He remembered your first time having sex; sloppy, clumsy, beautiful sex to a Pink Floyd song. He remembered holding you after, gazing into your eyes and knowing you were the one.

He remembered asking you to marry him, how your face lit up and how you’d smiled brighter than the sun. He remembered you kissing him and screaming yes and the joy of planning the wedding. He remembered being crushed when it never happened.

He remembered the day you came back to the mansion from the doctor after being sick looking like death. He remembered his stomach dropping and you crying on his shoulder. He remembered holding back tears as you told him the diagnosis. He remembered that neither of you slept that night. He remembered the denial, the desperate longing for the treatments to work, for Hank to find a cure if they didn’t. He remembered begging Xavier to do something, _anything._

He remembered watching you as you slowly wasted away, you skin paling, your smile fading, your body decaying, all before his very eyes. He remembered watching as the treatments took your hair, your life force, the essence of your spirit. He watched as they drained your energy and poisoned your body. He remembered having to help you around after each treatment.

He remembered sleepless nights and shedding tears and awkward silences and the imminent threat looming above your head. He remembered the day you collapsed and had to be hospitalized. He remembered the doctors telling him there was nothing they could do, and he remembered screaming at them to find something, because he loved you, and he’d be damned if he lost you to this.

He remembered holding your hand and staring into your tired eyes. He remembered you smiling and telling him you loved him. He remembered how thin you were, how corpse-like. He remembered your friends sprawled across the room that fateful day. He remembered the kind words, the thinly veiled sadness. He remembered sobbing when you’d told him you were ready, because this wasn’t life. He remembered your last words.

  
“I love you, Peter.”

  
He remembered your eyes closing and your breathing stopping and screaming because he couldn’t let you go. _Please, don’t leave, I love you._ It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. Why were you dead? You didn’t deserve it. You were kind and radiant and perfect and you didn’t deserve to die.

He remembered being pried from your lifeless corpse, unable to see through his tears. He remembered the funeral. He remembered talking for a long time about you, but not what he said. He remembered the encryption on your grave, and how you’d told the Professor to engrave it with his last name instead of your own. He remembered sobbing, remembered cursing the cancer that took you from him. He remembered being mad for a long time.

  
You were his world, and you’d been ripped away from him too soon. He loved you still, even as he stood in front of your headstone, his hands shaking. He missed you.

  
_Y/N, if you can hear me, I love you. I still love you._


	8. Make Me A Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter Maximoff x Reader  
> Prompt: 33 from this list: “Stop telling me about the past, I could be dead in a matter of hours… make me up a future”; Y/N is talking to Peter on their way to the battle with Apocalypse.

His eyes were on you.  
  The way your leg bounced in anticipation. The way your head rested upon the wall of the ship, eyes closed. The way you bit your lip. The way your breathing slowly got more unsteady. He grabbed your hand, locking your fingers with his own.

“Babe? It’s going to be fine.” His voice was soft and caring as he spoke to you, and you squeezed his hand.

“Can you talk to me for a while? Please? Your voice is calming.” Your voice was quiet and strained, and he knew you were scared. You all were; it wasn’t every day that you go to fight the most powerful mutant in the world.

“Of course.” So he began talking. He talked about the day he met you, the day he made a fool of himself to ask you out,the day you two had skipped class to ‘redecorate’ the mansion. He talked about your first kiss together, the way he’d felt. He talked about all the memories the two of you had.

“Pete?” He paused, mouth open as your eyes opened and your gaze fell upon him. “Stop telling me about the past, I could be dead in a matter of hours. Make me up a future. Make _us_ up a future.”

“Anything for you, babe.

  When this is all over, we’ll have scars. Some on our bodies, some on our souls. We won’t be able to go right back to normal, not after this, but we’ll help each other through it. There will be nightmares and sleepless nights and arguments and a lot of you calling me an idiot.” He watched as you smiled a bit, eyes locked with his. “We’ll have sex. Lots of sex. And it’ll be clumsy and shit at first but, hey, when you’re as fast as me there’s definite perks.” You snorted, rolling your eyes. He smiled. “And we’ll prank everyone in the mansion, because what’s Charles’ wrath to Apocalypse?  
  Within a year I’ll ask you to marry me, because we belong together and I probably should’ve asked you months ago. You’ll say yes because we love each other. We’ll have a Pink Floyd wedding and my dad will be there and getting along with my mom. Your parents will be there and we’ll fuck up the wedding at the vows because we won’t be able to stop laughing. You’ll call me a dork and we’ll kiss. At the reception I’ll probably throw cake at you and you’ll dump wine on me and we’ll ruin everybody’s clothes, but it’ll be worth it because everyone will be happy and laughing.  
  Another couple of years and we’ll have our own house and a kid or two. They’ll probably have your stunning looks and my winning personality. It’ll be a mess because both of us are impatient and awful and make bad jokes but it’ll also be amazing. They’ll go through their rebellious phase and we’ll both have to sit there thinking “well fuck, this is tame compared to when we…” and it’ll be amazing. They’ll have powers, these kids we’ll have, so they’ll end up at Charles’ school and he’ll have a lot of trouble on his hands cause neither of us have good judgement.  
  We’ll live in peace. We’ll have normal jobs with normal lives and we’ll save the world on the side and teach our kids how to use their powers and have a lot of sex. And we’ll be happy.” Your eyes were closed again, tears running down your cheeks. That was all you’d ever dreamed since dating Peter.

“I hope I live to see it.” You felt his fingers run through your hair and opened your eyes.

“You will.” He kissed your cheek as the plane descended, and your eyes locked. “I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too.”


	9. Loving Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter Maximoff x Reader
> 
> Prompt: Numbers 125 and 82 from this list: Comforting after a nightmare + “ When you love someone, you just don’t stop. Ever. Even when people roll their eyes or call you crazy… even then. Especially then!”

A scream pierced the cold night air, echoing through the mansion halls. Peter jolted out of bed, dark eyes unfocused but alert, his silver hair falling in his face. He heard the bustle of other students’ doors opening, the sound of nervous chatter and hushed whispers of ‘not again.’ They all knew what was coming. He knew what would happen, and he knew he had to hurry if he was going to make it to your room.

  When you had nightmares, your powers tended to go haywire, and he knew that within five minutes everything would be in zero-gravity. He had little time before it would become increasingly difficult to make it to your room. Your nightmares had become more frequent of late, and he couldn’t figure out why. You wouldn’t tell him, so he simply comforted you when you had them. He knew your nightmares weren’t as bad when he was there, but Xavier’s rules didn’t allow the two of you to sleep in the same room.

  He arrived at your door just as the gravity disappeared with a violent change of atmosphere, his feet rising above the ground. He gripped the doorknob, opening the door and crawling his way into your room. You were floating midair, hair tangled around your head in a halo as the objects of your room floated around you. He kept a hand firmly on the doorknob, preparing to launch himself toward you. There was only one way to calm you down during a nightmare, and that was to someone wake you up.

  Depending on what happened in your nightmares, sometimes it took a long time to wake you and sometimes it took five minutes. He didn’t mind, he loved you, after all, he just wished he knew what your nightmares were about. You never told him, and he stopped asking. He knew that your privacy was important to you, but he was becoming worried. Your nightmares were becoming more and more frequent and more and more violent. And all he could do was calm you afterward. He launched himself toward you wrapping his arms around you as he drifted over you. He discovered long ago that you would not move, for you became a gravitational anomaly or some odd thing such as that.

“Y/N?” He whispered, one hand gripping yours and the other slowly combing through your hair. “Y/N, it’s me again. I don’t know what horrors are in your head right now, but I’m going to make them go away. They wouldn’t dare mess with me.” He talked for a while, voice low and soft, until gravity finally returned to normal. He tumbled to the bed, landing hard next to you. He looked over at you as your eyes opened and you shot into a sitting position, your breathing hard. Then your eyes landed on him and he watched as a blush crept across your face.

“Peter!” Your eyes were wide as you looked at him, as though you hadn’t known he would be there. Maybe you hadn’t.

“Hey babe,” he grinned, lacing your fingers with his once more, “what was it this time? Scott in a bathing suit?” You giggled softly, then lowered your gaze.

“No, no, it was…” you hesitated, pushing a lock of your hair behind your ears.

“You know you can tell me, babe. I love you.”

“ButIdreamedyoudidn’t.” The words are shoved together in quick succession, but he understood.

“Y/N-”

“You just… stopped.” Your voice is barely a whisper, and his eyes are on you as you look up again. “We were joking around and you just stood up and said ‘I don’t love you anymore’ and ran out. You just left.” Tears are rolling down your face, and he pulls you into a hug.

“Y/N, when you love someone, you just don’t stop. Ever. Even when people roll their eyes or call you crazy… even then. Especially then!” You giggled at the words, tightening your grip on him. “I love you, Y/N, and no nightmare can take me away from you.”

“I love you too, Peter. I love you.”


	10. Silver Braids

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter Maximoff x Reader
> 
> Prompt: Number 42 from this list: “You braided his hair?”

You were extra hyper. It was obvious. You’d been extra energetic all day, nearly driving the Professor mad with your seemingly boundless energy. You talked more, disrupted class, beaten on your desk with your hands to the beat of a song, and nearly shaken the entire classroom with your bouncing leg. It didn’t help that you could cause earthquakes, and so the entire school had experienced minor shock waves all day. They were going insane. Absolutely insane. How many times did they have to nearly fall before the shaking would end???

  You had always been a mostly calm person, but today was an exception. It was as if all the energy you never used had been stored away only to burst free. And you’d gone on a spree. Not only had you cleaned half the mansion, pranked half the class and cooked most of lunch, but you’d run three laps around the school, done all the homework, created a new dance routine, and done half the hair of the guys in the school. And Peter was next. Warren’s curls had been expertly styled, Scott’s mess appropriately straightened, Kurt’s bed-head fixed back into his normal scene style, even Hank had gotten his hair done. None had any choice in the matter, they’d all simply sat still - Warren had even dared grumble a bit - as you styled each boy’s hair. They knew you’d get the energy out eventually, and they’d rather not have it come out as their hair being ripped out.

  You walked - skipped, really - through the mansion halls, eyes peeled for your boyfriend. You had a sneaking suspicion that he was hiding from you. You’d seen him this morning when you’d nearly knocked him over by tackle-hugging him, giggling the whole time. He’d thought you were drunk at first, but there had been no alcohol on your breath. You hadn’t seen him since but for one time when he popped in to check on you and saw you fixing Warren’s hair. You hadn’t seen him since that moment, but you had seen the look on his face. He’d known. He’d known exactly what was coming.

“Hey Y/N!” You smirked as you felt the rush of wind and an arm go around your waist. He’d found you on his own, no more searching needed.

“Hey Pete, ya busy?” You saw on his face that he knew he’d misjudged the situation. He’d clearly assumed that you were calmer now, and he was wrong. You relished in the look on his face.

“…No.” You grinned, looking over at him.

“Can I do your hair?” He winked, a sly grin on his face.

“That’s a bit kinky, babe.” You punched his arm, grinning.

“I didn’t hear a no.” You set to work on Peter’s hair almost absentmindedly, both of you seated in the middle of the mansion’s hallways. His hair was soft and silky as your fingers combed through it, and he hummed pleasantly through the process, meddling impatiently with his hands. You knew you were going slow, and you knew he lived life in the fast lane, but the fact that he hadn’t moved from the spot was sweet in it’s own way. Within thirty minutes, you were done and a complete giggling mess.

“What are you laughing at?” Peter asked you carefully, a silver eyebrow raised.

“Pete, you look gorgeous.” He sighed and stood up, hands reaching toward his hair. You knocked it away, a smirk on your face. 

“Nope. It’s gotta be a surprise.”

“But baaaabe-” He whined, eyes pleading.

“Nope. Surprise.” He pouted and you almost faltered. Almost. He had the most adorable pout. You heard someone coming and turned around to see the shocked face of Jean.

“You.. you braided his hair?” You grin, proud of you work. The braids were sticking out everywhere, yet somehow managed to look artful. A true masterpiece in your opinion. You turned just in time to see Peter dash into a nearby room and come out smiling.

“You were right, babe, I do look gorgeous.” He wrapped his arm around your waist again, kissing your forehead. Jean shook her head, walking away.

You two were an odd couple, to say the least. Odd and energetic and proud.


	11. We Don't Have To Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Y/N loses her voice after an incident at home, and goes to Peter for comfort
> 
> A/N: This one’s a little… much, and I apologize if it’s bad. Also it turned out a lot longer than I expected. Huuuuuuuuge shoutout to @fetus-twink-howell bc my dude I’d have never gotten anywhere without you.
> 
> Warning(s): Mentions of both physical and verbal abuse, swearing

  You clutched your hand over your throat, the raw bruises beginning to form hurt you with every swallow. You’d wanted to call him, to have him come get you rather than you walk thirty minutes to his house in the dark, but your voice was gone, damaged by what happened and you didn’t think you could sit in that house any longer. Peter was your best friend, always had been your best friend. He could help. He _had_ to help. You needed him. Needed his ridiculous jokes and amazingly warm hugs.

  As if sensing your mood, the skies began to cry with you, cold raindrops running down your face next to fat, hot tears. You’d dealt with - no, _survived_ \- your parents for years but this… this was it. You were done. It was like they believed you being a mutant was the equivilant to you being Hitler or something. All you could do was read minds. That’s it. That didn’t warrant your father choking you to near unconsciousness, or your mother screaming harsh slurs while she watched you struggle.

  You knocked frantically on the door to Peter’s house, fear filling your eyes when his mother answered. She took one look at you and ushered you inside, screaming for Peter to ‘get his ass upstairs _this instant_!” You kept your hands at your throat, afraid. You didn’t know what you looked like, but you must be a mess. You must be. Especially for his mother to look as horrified as she had in that moment.

  Peter appeared a second later, looking like he’d just woken up. He probably had, it was late. Too late for you to be at his house, but where else could you go? Nowhere. You had nowhere else. His dark eyes widened as they landed on you, and the brief, agonizing silence sent a thousand thoughts through your head. _What if they don’t want me here? Will they make me leave? Force me back to my house? Will Peter hate me?_ Some part of you knew the thoughts were irrational, but that didn’t stop them from dominating your mind. Then came a sound.

“Y/N, _what happened_?” Peter. You swallowed, ignoring the brief, sharp pain it caused, and shook your head. You couldn’t speak. He looked to his mother almost helplessly, then back to you. You saw his mother turn and leave the room from the corner of your eye. “Y/N…” His voice was barely a whisper, tired eyes filled with worry. Unspoken words passed between the two of you, words you knew he would say but that you didn’t want to hear. You need to move your hands. Reluctantly, in what must be an agonizingly slow movement for Peter, you removed your hands from your neck. You hadn’t thought Peter’s eyes could get any wider.

  His mother return holding a towel, but stopped in her tracks when she saw your neck. Her face transformed from horror to murderous in less than a second. You knew she knew. She gingerly handed you the towel, her face a mask of rage. You grabbed her wrist as she walked away, eyes pleading. _Don’t do anything. Please._ She nodded curtly.

“Alright, sweetie, but your father is lucky that I don’t rip off his balls.” You swallowed again, nodding. Your eyes darted back to Peter, but he wasn’t there. Instead, you felt a rush of air;  him running away. Your heart drops, fresh tears forming. You were that repulsive, then?

  You weren’t prepared a few seconds later when he reappeared, carrying an ice pack, eyes soft. He gently pressed the ice to your neck, being as gentle as possible. He’d seen you with bruises before - you often appeared at his house with bruised arms or moving funny due to bruises on you back - but you knew that, to him, this was a whole new ball game.

“The ice won’t help your voice much, but it will reduce the swelling.” You nodded slightly, trying not to cause yourself any more pain. You closed your eyes, trying to calm your erratic breathing. You were safe. Peter meant safety. You took a deep breath, and when you opened your eyes you froze. The look in Peter’s eyes was somewhere between malicious and tender, and you’d never seen him look like that before. You wanted to talk, to tell him not to worry about it, that you were sorry, but you couldn’t. Your father had taken that from you, and your mother had watched him gladly. “Mom, can you get a pair of my sweatpants and one of my t-shirts for Y/N?” Peter calls, and his mother returns a few moments later with a change of clothes.

“Here, sweetie, go change. You’ll catch a cold if you stay in those drenched clothes.” You nodded, taking the clothes and darting away from Peter into the bathroom. Closing the door behind you, you begin to wriggle out of your saturated clothes, then pulling on Peter’s dry clothes. They were a bit loose on you, but they were comfortable - a lot more comfortable than wet clothes, that’s for sure. You looked over and saw your reflection in the mirror for the first time since the incident. You looked awful.

  Your wet hair was sticking out at odd angles, and your throat was already a harsh blue-purple colour and you could see the outline of your father’s hands in the bruise pattern. Your eyes were red and puffy from crying, and your skin had paled. You were a wreck, a complete wreck. You closed your eyes, turning your face away from the mirror. You couldn’t stare at the disgusting bruises any longer, you didn’t even want to think about them. You pushed the door open, reopening your eyes to the sight of Peter and his mother, who were whispering anxiously in the kitchen. They paused as you approached, Peter standing up. You saw him stifle a yawn and glanced over at the clock. You’d forgotten how late it was - nearly one in the morning.

“Y/N, are you tired?” You shrugged, gesturing to the couch. _I’ll just lie there for a while._ You weren’t sure you were going to get any sleep anyway, and you didn’t want to bother anyone any more than you had to. Peter, who caught your meaning, shook his head rapidly.

“Oh no, you are _not_ sleeping on the couch! You can sleep on my bed.” You started to shake your head - you didn’t want to force him to sleep on the couch or floor - but stopped. There was something in his eyes, something you couldn’t quite recognize, that made you simply nod. You saw him hesitate a moment, just a moment, before walking over to the door to the basement. Walking. Peter walked. You blinked, never having actually seen Peter move slower than a run before. He looked at you, expecting you to follow. You met his tender, reassuring gaze, and any hesitation you had vanished. Meeting him at the door, you look away, hands subconsciously going to cover your neck. Peter’s brows furrowed, eyes trained on your face. “You don’t have to cover…” He trailed off, some sort of understanding dawning on his face as he stared at you. “C’mon.”

  You followed him down the steps, eyes trained on the floor. There was something oddly comforting about the way Peter wasn’t zipping around like he always did, about the way he kept glancing back as if to make sure he hadn’t sped away. You felt bad about bothering him, about barging into his house. You felt like a burden, like you were just inconveniencing him. After all, you show up at his door looking a wreck and drenched from the rain and you can’t even talk. Who wouldn’t be bothered? Your parents certainly would have been. You bit your lip, glancing up only to see Peter looking at you with concern.

“I can guess what you’re thinking, Y/N, it’s written all over your face.” You looked away, closing your eyes. “Y/N, it’s _fine_. You aren’t…” He paused, and you looked up to meet his gaze. “You’re as far from a bother as you could possibly get, Y/N. You may think you’re bothering me, but you aren’t. I’m glad you came here instead of staying with those cocksuckers.” Your eyes widened, and you’d never wanted to speak more in your entire life than in that moment. Peter chuckled lightly, and all you could do was stare. You’d known he wasn’t exactly _happy_ with the way your parents treated you, but it was surprising and almost… comical to hear him call them both cocksuckers. Despite your circumstances, you wanted to laugh; you would have, too, had it not been painful, so you settled with smiling. Peter, almost surprised by your reaction, smiled back and continued down to his room.

  You followed, taking in the familiar messy floor and smell of twinkies that was Peter’s room. This house - this room - was the only place you’d ever felt safe. You watch as Peter moves over to his bed, which is a mess of blankets and wrinkled t-shirts. He shoves them aside, falling back lazily onto the bed. “Care to sit?” You rolled your eyes but moved to sit next to him anyway. You watched him as he studied your face, squirming awkwardly under his intense gaze. You raised an eyebrow, gesturing to your face. _What, is there something on my face?_ “Nope, just beauty.” You rolled your eyes, ignoring the slight blush spreading across your face. _Is this really the time, you cheeky bastard?_ Peter seemed to catch the meaning in your eyes, and shrugged. “Probably not, but it is time you got some sleep.” You looked questioningly from him to the bed, stifling a yawn. You’d slept in a bed with Peter before, having fallen asleep while watching a movie or while reading as Peter played video games, but this was different. He laughed. “No, no, I’m taking the floor, Y/N. There’s enough shit on my floor to make a decent bed anyway.” You hesitated. This was his bed, and you’d essentially _stolen_ it from him in the middle of the fucking night.

  You saw confusion pass over Peter’s face at your hesitation. Of course he was confused, after all, what was the proper response to this entire situation? Because _you_ certainly didn’t know. You were feeling so much in that moment that your emotions were a jumbled mess, and all you wanted to do was cry again. Peter looked at you, eyes searching your face for an answer. You watched his eyes soften as he looked at your face, and wrapped his arm around your shoulders. “Y/N, _it’s going to be okay._ ” You look over at him. You were in your best friend’s house, sitting in your best friend’s arms, and you finally felt safe. And so you let the tears fall.

  You weren’t sure how long you cried, only that, somewhere along the way, you started to fall asleep. Soon enough, Peter noticed your breathing begin to slow and started to pull away to lay you down on the bed, but your fingers tightened on his loose t-shirt, eyes fluttering open slightly. With all the energy you could muster, you open your mouth to try and speak.

“Don’t go.” It’s barely a sound, hardly audible even in the deafening silence of the room. You weren’t sure who was more shocked in that moment, you or Peter, but it didn’t matter. Peter wrapped his arms around you, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

“I’m not going anywhere, Y/N.”


	12. Drowning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Could you do one when Peter finds out you’ve been sexual assaulted? I need fluffy comfort while these memories keep playing in my head.
> 
> Warning(s): Mentions of/vague descriptions of sexual assault/rape, swearing. Plz be prepared for this topic before you read.
> 
> A/N: I sincerely hope this is decent ;-;

 You hadn’t been the same recently, Peter could tell. The first moment he’d known something was wrong was the day you refused to let him pick you up. It was something he did often for your convenience, but that day - and all the days after - you hadn’t let him lay a hand on you. He’d accepted it, though he found it weird, and respected what you’d wanted. Then you’d stopped smiling. At first it had been little things, like not giggling at his jokes like you usually did or not cracking a smile when you saw him during the day. Then you’d simply… stopped. No one saw you smile anymore, and even the Professor had been concerned. He’d come to Peter asking if he knew, but he’d merely shaken his head. Apparently you were blocking everyone out, even the resident telepath.

 Then he’d noticed the way you shrank away from everyone. You weren’t as confident, didn’t speak as much, walked like you wanted to sink into the ground. He moved fast, so fast that everything around him moved in slow motion, and he saw the disgusted looks you gave yourself when you passed a mirror. He saw how uncomfortable you got around everyone. He saw and wondered and worried. You were pushing him - your best friend - further away every day. It was agonizing for him, but he respected what you wanted. He couldn’t hide his worry, though. The whole mansion knew something was up, but no one knew what.

 He wandered aimlessly through the halls, mind on you. You’d gotten thinner, paled, and there were constant bags under your eyes. Something was so wrong that he could feel your pain when he was around you, and he wanted to kick what or whoever had hurt you in the face. With a steel-toed boot that he could steal from Logan. He wanted so desperately to ask you what was wrong, to comfort you, but you’d shut him out, shut everyone out. There was nothing he could do to help, and that was destroying him, just like whatever had happened to you was destroying you.

 He snapped out of his thoughts, looking around. He’d ended up in front of the door to your room. He wasn’t sure what, exactly, had brought him to your door, but there he was. He stared at the thick wooden door for a long moment, fighting internally over whether or not to knock. You hadn’t left your room all day, no one had seen you, and anyone sent to check had been met with either silence or “go away.” He was getting increasingly more and more worried, and he couldn’t just ignore it anymore, as if he could to begin with. He took a deep breath and knocked softly on the door.

“Y/N? Can I come in?” There was a long, agonizing silence before he finally heard a faint reply.

“Sure, Peter.” He pushed the door open.

~

 You felt disgusting. You wrinkled your nose, looking away from the mirror in shame, closing your eyes. You were disgusting, your body was disgusting and violated. Worthless. That was what you felt you were. Worthless, disgusting,  afraid, and helpless. The feeling of helplessness hadn’t left you since it happened, and you couldn’t help but feel like it was your fault. It must have been your fault. If you’d just kept telling him to let go maybe it wouldn’t have happened.

 You squirmed in your clothing, feeling unclean despite the bath you’d taken mere hours before. You paced around your room, absentmindedly scratching at your skin, trying desperately to forget what happened. You need some distraction, any distraction you could find, but distractions were far and few for you.Despite all your efforts, the memory played over and over in your head, dominating your thoughts and consuming your soul. You were drowning, and there was no escape, no matter how much you wanted one.

 You couldn’t remember how it smelled. But God, you could remember everything you felt. The feel of his rough hands or the way his body pressed yours against the wall. You remembered feeling his hands everywhere, and how utterly confused and terrified you’d been. The memories flashed through your mind, preventing you from thinking of anything else. Why hadn’t you been able to stop him?

 You squeezed your eyes shut, scratching your arms harder. You wanted out of your skin, away from your mind. Nothing could distract you, not even Peter. _Peter_. You’d shoved him away when the pieces had clicked into place, and it wasn’t right. He hadn’t done anything, no one in the mansion had, but you’d shut them all out anyway. You hadn’t even left your room today, how could you? You looked worse than ever, and you felt disgusting in your own skin. It was closing in on eight in the afternoon when you heard it. A knock.

“Y/N? Can I come in?” Peter. You hesitated, eyes wide. _Relax, it’s just Peter. He’s probably worried sick._ You took a deep breath, pausing your pacing. You open your mouth, but the words are barely above a whisper.

“Sure, Peter.”

~

 He pushed the door open slowly, eyes forced to adjust to the dim lighting of your room. You were standing - cowering - in the middle of your room, one hand scratching your arm and the other at your mouth, your teeth gnawing on your nails. Your hair was a mess and your eyes were wide.

“Y/N?” He moved slowly, ignoring as his silver hair fell in his face.

“Peter.” You didn’t say any more than that, and you didn’t look up at him. He decided something then and there, and opened his mouth to speak. “What happened to you? Who did this? Is it me? Something I did? Was is Scott? I can beat him up if-”

“No, Peter.” Your voice is soft and shaky and your body is trembling. “It… it wasn’t you, and it wasn’t Scott. It wasn’t anyone in the mansion.” He watched, unable to do anything, as you simply fell into tears in front of his eyes. He moved to hug you, to comfort you, but you cowered away. “DON’T TOUCH ME!” You were seated in a fetal position now, arms wrapped around yourself, eyes squeezed shut.

“Y/N! What- what happened?” Peter backed up, startled by your reaction. How could he help? He’d never seen you like this, and it was simultaneously infuriating him and making him worry beyond belief. Whoever had done this was going to pay.

“The memories,” you sobbed, opening your bloodshot eyes to look at him, “make the memories stop!”

“Y/N, it’s okay, I’m here. Take a deep breath, okay? Hey, look at me.” He keep his voice soft and soothing, eyes trained on your face. You lifted your head slowly, locking eyes with him. Tears streamed down your face as you took several deep breaths, but your breathing did calm some. “What happened, Y/N?” Your voice was barely a whisper as you spoke.

“I… he… I couldn't… my fault… I should've…” Your sentence was broken and shredded by your weakened state, and Peter wracked his brain for some semblance of a solution.

“Who is he?” The look of fear in your eyes sparked anger in him, but he shoved it down. Your lips moved, and no sound came out, but he saw the name your lips formed. Your ex. Two and two clicked in his mind and a rage he’d never felt before overcame him. “I will fucking _kill_ that dickwad! I will rip his fucking dick off and _make him eat it_!”

“Peter, please.” he could see your world crashing around you in your eyes. “It was my fault.”

“ _How_ could it be your fault, Y/N? You didn’t _ask_ him to do what he did, he forced you to-”

“But it was _my_ fault he did!”

“ _No, it wasn’t!_ Explain to me how it could possibly be your fault!”

“I… It was… I was wearing shorts and a crop top.”

“How does that make it your fault! If you were standing naked in front of me I could control myself, but this idiot can’t control himself when you _are_ clothed? NO!” You cower away from Peter as his voice booms through the room, bouncing off the walls. He freezes, eyes wide. “S-sorry!”

“I’m- I’m sorry I made you mad, please- please don’t hurt me!” You whimper out the words, shrinking away from him. He blanched, tears forming in his eyes. He scared you, and now he was at a loss as to how to comfort you. All he wanted to do was comfort you and kill that son of a fuck, but he knew he couldn’t because it would only make you more upset. He stared as you shuffled away from him and into a corner, desperate to get as far away as possible.

“Y/N…” His voice was shaky, and he had gotten so nervous at the situation that his whole body was shaking too. He took a step toward you, reaching for you to try and calm you down. Your body stiffened, paralyzed with fear, preparing for pain. It broke him to see that you thought he was going to hurt you. He loved you, he would never hurt you. He felt hot tears slide down his cheeks, but ignored them. He was going to kill him. That fucker had broken you, taken you away and left behind a shell of what you were. An empty shell of the beautiful girl he’d come to love as more than just a friend. He was going to _rip your ex to fucking shreds_.

 He stared at you, vision blurry, and retracted his hand slowly. Everything was so damn slow. He slid quietly to the floor in front of you, eyes trained on your face. Neither of you said anything for what must have been the longest moment in history. The life had drained out of him. He couldn’t stand to see you so broken, it was killing him.

~

 You watched as Peter sank to the floor in front of you, something like hopelessness written on his face. He stared up at you, dark eyes filled with more emotions than you thought possible as the tears slid down his cheeks. Your fault again. You pressed your back against the wall, sliding down to the floor as well and wrapping your arms around your knees. It was your fault. Of course it was your fault. It couldn’t have been anyone else’s fault but yours.

“I’m… I’m sorry I made you cry.” Your voice is barely audible, even in the silence. “I can’t-” Your voice broke, and you swallowed, more tears forming. “I can’t do anything right.” You saw his eyes focus on your face, his mouth parting slightly in surprise.

“Y/N, it’s not your fault, you didn’t make me cry. It’s that piss-bag you call an ex that’s making me cry.”

“But he didn’t-”

“Y/N,” Peter’s voice is soft and gentle as he speaks to you, “he raped you.” Something in your brain clicked, and you burst into sobs.

“He just… he wouldn’t stop! I tried to push him a-away and h-he just wouldn’t s-stop!” You could barely see through your tears, but you could hear Peter, and he was sobbing too.

“I won’t ever let him touch you again, Y/N, if it’s the last thing I do, he won’t touch you again.” You reached for him, and he pulled you close, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. You weren’t sure how long you both cried, just that you woke up sprawled on the floor, Peter’s arm still around you. You weren’t okay. You wouldn’t be okay for a long time… but you had Peter. And you would make it through this.


	13. A Maximoff Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter Maximoff x Reader
> 
> Prompt: Christmas with the Maximoff fam
> 
> Warning(s): I think there’s like two swear words? lmao

“Are you sure, Pete? I don’t want to impose.” You looked over at your boyfriend, eyes searching his face for anything that might signal his disapproval. You’d asked to go with him when he went back to his mother’s house in the few days leading up to Christmas, and you had to make sure. He looked over at you, dark eyes warm.

“Of course, Y/N! I think if you don’t come my mom would be disappointed, actually, she practically considers you her child.” He grinned, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. “Besides, I want you there, and if I didn’t… well then the universe would implode!” You grinned, shaking your head. Only Peter. You took a deep breath, calming yourself down. It wasn’t like you were meeting God or anything, you’d been to Peter’s house plenty of times; how was this any different?

“I was just making sure, I wasn’t sure.” And you weren’t. What if something went wrong? What if you actually were imposing upon their Christmas? You leaned into your boyfriend as his arm tightened around your shoulders. It would be fine. If Peter didn’t want you there, you wouldn’t be there. You grabbed the gifts off of your bed, moving out of Peter’s arms just long enough to make sure you wouldn’t drop anything on your way.

  You walked alongside Peter through the mansion halls, which were coated in so much festive decor that you could barely see the walls anymore. You shook your head, a grin spreading across your face. Charles had truly outdone himself this year, and you had a sneaking suspicion that he’d had one Peter Maximoff help him out - especially since the decorations had practically appeared over night at the start of December.

  You wondered quietly why Peter was walking and not running, you could both be at his mother’s house in less than a minute, but he was taking the time to walk you both through the mansion. It was bizarre, but not unappreciated. You loved Peter’s speed, but sometimes you just wanted to slow down. You were theorizing as to exactly _why_ you were walking when you stepped out of the mansion to see a car waiting. With Peter’s mother and sister in it.

“We walked… because your mom was waiting?” You ask, and Peter smirks.

“We walked because she’s been waiting for ten minutes.”

“Peter!” You slap at his arm with your free hand, but you’re grinning. This was certainly going to be an entertaining Christmas, that’s for sure.

~

  After your arrival at Peter’s childhood home, the two of you somehow managed to get roped into a massive snowball fight with Wanda, who, despite being younger, was holding her own. You laughed, quickly throwing up the shield you could create as part of your powers to deflect a snowball sent flying through the air by Wanda as Peter zipped around, throwing snowballs left and right with no care as to where they hit. You were all a freezing, laughing mess by the time you went back inside. Then came the baking.

  You were perfectly fine helping make cookies, however it became clear when Peter’s mom left to run to the store on a quick errand that neither of you should be left in charge of a kitchen. It started when Peter decided to smear cookie batter on your nose and you, in turn, threw a blob of dough at him. By the time Peter’s mother returned, not only were you and Peter a wreck, but Wanda had somehow managed to get caught in the fray as well. Not to mention the disastrous mess you and Peter had made in the kitchen. You looked when you’d seen his mother’s look of disapproval, and both of you had collapsed into giggles, your flour and dough covered clothes making you look more a mess than before.

  Thankfully, his mother had the good sense to decorate the tree beforehand, because you were absolutely certain that, had she not, some decorations would have shattered.

  The next day was just as chaotic, filled with lopsided snowmen, decimated snow angels and the pandemonium of trying to build a gingerbread house with Peter. One moment, everything is fine, but in the next he’s stolen all the ingredients and built a giant house. Which you promptly knocked over with a light poke to its side. Peter had, of course, exclaimed his distaste in mock horror while you laughed, throwing some icing at him in response. This time, the two of you cleaned up the mess made by yet another food fight, fearing the wrath of Peter’s mom.

  Of all the things you did that day, however, curling up next to Peter with a cup of hot cocoa and watching crappy Christmas movies was your favourite. It was Christmas Eve, after all, and what was Christmas Eve without cheesy, ridiculous Christmas movies? You began to fall asleep about halfway through - Peter _was_ a comfortable pillow - and Peter had shaken his head and smiled, kissing your forehead.

  You woke up Christmas morning on Peter’s bed, Peter curled beside you. You thought briefly about not waking him up, he did look adorable when he was asleep, but then again, it was Christmas. You gripped one of the pillows in your hands and smacked him with it, hard.

“Wake the fuck up, Peter, it’s Christmas!” You shouted the words, giggling as he shot up from his sleeping position, hair sticking up in all directions. You weren’t sure what time it was, and you didn’t exactly care at that moment. Peter stared at you for a moment, running his hands through his hair.

“Y/N, I love you, but really? You stole my idea.” He pouted, and you laughed.

“Great minds think alike.”He huffed, rolling his eyes.

“Well we might as well go upstairs, Wanda’s probably already got mom up anyway.” You could hear a nervousness in his tone that you didn’t understand, but you wrote it off as Christmas jitters. Everyone was a little nervous on Christmas. Just as you were about to get up, a pillow hit you, followed by the sound of Peter laughing. You turned, smirking as you pelted a pillow at him, which he promptly avoided. Damn his super speed. Laughing once more, Peter grabbed your hand, pulling you into a kiss. He pulled away after a second, a wide grin spread across his face. “C’mon, let’s actually go up now.”

  He dragged you upstairs, your fingers locked together. As Peter suspected, both his mother and Wanda were already awake and sitting at the kitchen table, probably waiting for the two of you.

“It’s about time you two got up! It’s nearly 11!” Wanda bounced from her chair excitedly, eyes bright. Wanda scurried to the living room at a pace that put Peter to shame, and you could tell they had been up waiting for quite a bit. You laughed, and the three of you moved to the living room, sitting down and watching Wanda pass out various gifts.

  Preparing to open your first gift, you grabbed a small box - the closest gift within reach - when Peter’s mom stopped you, shoving a different gift into your hand.

“I hope you don’t mind, sweetheart, but you should open that one last.” You stared at the small box, confused, but nodded anyway, accepting the odd request.

  The four of you tore through your gifts eagerly until only the small box remained, and you could see Peter fidgeting as you picked it up. What could possibly be in this box to make him so nervous? You carefully unwrapped the box, and you felt your heart rate rise as you stared at the small black box in your hand. All eyes were on you. You slowly opened the box, biting your lower lip. You turn your wide eyes to Peter, he blushes and takes the box from you, dropping to one knee.

“Yes.” His mouth was open to say something, but you didn’t give him the chance to say anything.

“I didn’t even-”

“You didn’t have to.”

“I had this whole speech planned, Y/N, and you just go on and say yes before I can say it.”

“I can take it back.” Peter looked briefly horrified before you laughed, shaking your head. “I’m kidding, Pete, of course I’ll marry you.” He grinned, pulling you into a kiss and slipping the engagement ring onto your finger. You grinned, eyes filling with happy tears. You kissed Peter again, stopping only when Wanda shouted.

“Will you two get a room!” The two of you laugh, eyes glittering with joy.

Of all the Christmases you’d had, this one was the best.


	14. Confined

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Hi :3 Could you do a peter x reader where they’re friends (with a crush on each other) and during a mission they have to hide in a very small place (like a closet) and they get embarrassed because of ehm “reactions”? Thank you, love you!
> 
> Warning(s): Swearing, Sexual references

  You’d known from the start that this wouldn’t end well. You’d told them it wouldn’t end well, but did anyone listen to you? No. And now here you were, being dragged along by Peter, because _of course_ the whole thing went to shit. Oh, how you would love to say ‘I told you so,’ but you were a little busy trying to get away from the people chasing you.

  The smooth metal walls of the base seemed to stretch on forever as the two of you ran, and your footsteps seemed to echo so loudly that you were fairly certain someone miles away could hear them. You knew the two of you had to get out - these people were ruthless, killing without hesitation - but the two of you were in the heart of their base, and you were worried that there might not _be_ a way out.

  Peter rounded another sharp corner, his grip on your hand tightening as he sped up, his eyes searching for somewhere, _anywhere_ to hide. You were almost to the end of the hallway when Peter skidded to a stop, causing you to slam into his back, sending you reeling.

“What the fuck, Peter, we need to-” He cut you off with a glance, darting to your right and ripping open a door you hadn’t noticed, possibly because it was so well camouflaged with the walls. He pulled you into the closet, barely giving you time to brace yourself before you were jammed awkwardly against the walls, Peter pressed close to you. You held your breath, trying to calm your heart rate.

“So… do you like jazz music?”

“Peter, what the hell?” You whispered, eyes adjusting just enough to see the outline of his face. He shrugged - as well as one could shrug when pressed against someone else in a small closet - and grinned. You could see the white of his teeth even in the darkness, and vaguely wondered how they were still that white despite all the junk food Peter ate.

  Suddenly, something became blaring obvious to you. You were standing pressed against the wall in a small closet. Flushed against _Peter_. Your crush. You were glad for the near-pitch darkness; you knew from the heat rising up to your face that you were blushing deeply. You squirm slightly, the close confines jumbled with your feelings for Peter making you uncomfortable.

“What can I say, live by the memes, get stuck in a cramped closet by the memes.” You snorted, and by the way you heard Peter shift, you could imagine he looked affronted. “You _dare_ question my loyalty to memes?” You hold back a laugh, shaking your head as best you can.

“Pete, that meme is _ancient_.”

“The older, the danker.”

“I swear, Peter…”

“ _What?_ What did I do?”

“What didn’t you do, idiot.”

“Well you, for starters.” He was grinning smugly. You knew he was grinning smugly. You didn’t need to see to know that.

“ _PETER!_ ” Suddenly you felt his hand press against your mouth, and you felt him lean forward to keep your mouth closed from the pressure.

“Y/N, you’re loud as fuck and I’d very much like to live.” You grumbled in response, rolling your eyes in mock annoyance. You couldn’t have been _that_ loud. Besides, it was his fault. Mostly. You took a deep breath, reaching to move Peter’s hand away from your mouth.

“I’ll be as loud as I damn well please,” you said, but you kept your voice low nonetheless. Your eyes were starting to adjust to the darkness, and you could make out Peter’s features fairly well. Which also meant you could see, as well as feel, how close the two of you were. _Damn feelings_. You knew this was not the time to be wondering if his dark eyes were fixated on your face, or what it would feel like to be wrapped in his arms, but your close proximity had caused your mind to wander, despite the circumstances.

  As if the situation couldn’t get any more embarrassing, the base began to shake abruptly, the thundering _BOOM_ of an explosion rocking the ground and causing the two of you to fall onto one another. The next thing you knew, you were both positioned awkwardly, your legs straddling each other as you tried to catch yourselves. You gripped his shirt to steady yourself as yet another tremor shook the base, knowing that if you fell you’d likely be stuck in that position until the two of you were able to make your escape.

  When the tremors finally stopped, neither of you moved, too afraid to disentangle yourselves. You weren’t sure that, even _had_ you wanted to move, you would have been able to. Your fingers were locked into place, tangled in Peter’s shirt.

“Y/N,” his voice is quiet, almost trembling.

“Hm?” You trained your eyes on his face, trying to read his expression in the darkness.

“You might want to… back away.” You glanced around, brows furrowed in confusion.

“Peter, how the fuck am I supposed to back away in this cramped closet?” He looked at you almost pleadingly, and something in your brain clicks. _Oh_. Heat rushes into your face, embarrassment flooding through you. You were positive that if you could truly see Peter, he would be flushed too.

  The rush of embarrassment did not, however, stop you from giving up what you considered a prime opportunity to tease Peter. So, instead of backing away, you leaned into him.

“Something wrong, Pete?” Your voice was sickeningly innocent.

“Pffft no! Of course nothing’s wrong! Why would something be wrong?” You could swear his voice raised an octave, and resisted the urge to giggle. “Is it hot in here? It’s hot right? Because this is a small closet? _Right?!_ ” You shake your head slightly, wrapping your arms around Pete’s neck.

“No, it’s pretty cold in here, actually. I wish I could warm up,” you purred, eyes fixated on Peter’s face. He was looking anywhere but at you.

“Y/N, _shut up._ You _know_ what you’re doing, and it’s not fair.”

“ _Of course_ I know what I’m doing. I’m hugging my best friend.”

“ _Y/N,_ for fUCKS SA-” He doesn’t finish, you don’t give him a chance to. You press your lips to his, tangling your fingers in his hair. His hands find your lower back, pressing you closer to him. You were a tangle of limbs and unchecked lust; your bodies pressed so closely together that the small confines of the closet seemed large. Hands roamed and lips parted, neither of you giving another thought to your original reason for being in the closet.

Then, the door opened, but the two of you were so wrapped up in each other that you didn’t notice that Scott was standing in the small doorway of the closet, arms crossed.

“You know,” his voice rang loud and clear, startling the two of you and causing you to spring apart. This, of course, only resulted on the two of you falling all over each other within the close confines. “It doesn’t look like you two need much of a rescue so much as a chaperone.” You glance at Peter, both of your faces red in embarrassment. Scott rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “Come on you two. And Peter, you might want to…”

“Five more minutes and it wouldn’t have been a problem anymore,” Peter mutters, smirking at you.

“ _Peter Maximoff!_ ”


	15. Die To Save You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Peter x reader where they’re the reader saves his life (nearly dying in the process)

  Of all of the stupid, idiotic, purely ridiculous ideas for Peter to have, and he choses the most _risky_ , treacherous, fucking _perilous_ idea. And it was going to get you both killed. You glanced over your shoulder, trying to stay focused. You’d lost Peter in the chaos, and you needed to find him again before the two of you could escape.

  But that was going to take a while, you knew, because you had made it to the outskirts of the facility, and Peter was still in the thick of things. He was an idiot, no doubt about it. He’d gotten you both into this mess, and now you weren’t sure you would be able to get you both out of it unscathed. You went over everything you’d been told about this place, trying to sort out the best way to find Peter and get out without much difficulty.

  There wasn’t one. _Of course_ there wasn’t an easy way out. Nothing’s ever easy. Especially not with Peter.

  You narrowed your options down to two: risk being hurt to get Peter back… or leave him here. In your mind, there was only one option.

“Dammit, Peter…” You mutter to yourself, moving swiftly out of your hiding spot. You would have to move fast. Very, very fast. Almost faster than Peter. You scaled the closest building, deciding to keep to the roofs of the buildings rather than traverse the grounds. You were less likely to be caught on the roof, and your high position would make attacks easier. The base, you thought, was not fortified enough for what they were pulling off. Which meant there had to be _something_ they were keeping close. And you didn’t like it.

  You took a deep breath, calming your mind and compartmentalizing your thoughts. You knew that you had to move quickly and cautiously, but this was easier said than done. You could not move quickly without sacrificing caution nor move cautiously without sacrificing speed. You would have to balance the two, moving just cautious enough to keep a steady pace. This wasn’t a choice so much as a necessity. Peter’s life depended upon you.

  You found it odd how, despite the dire situation, you were oddly calm. Your heart rate was up, but your mind was perfectly focused. You knew what you had to do, and you knew what it might cost. You’d made up your mind the moment you’d realized what happened. It was worth your life for Peter’s, and you would make the same decision a hundred times over, even if you didn’t love him. Which you did.

  You shook your head, focusing your thoughts on the situation and moving across the roof as quickly as caution allowed. You had to find him, and fast, and you had a sneaking suspicion of where he was. They would be taking him to the main compound, if he was captured - for the only reason he would not be with you already was that he had been captured - and so that was where you had to go. You would go and rescue him before they had a chance to interrogate and kill him.

~

  You observed quietly, absorbing all the details you possibly could before making your move. There were ten guards, at least four of them armed more heavily than the rest. Ten guards. One mutant. One mutant with a power entirely useless for the situation and combat skills only half developed. Great.

  Peter himself was in the center, a power-suppressing collar clasped around his neck and shackles on his wrists and ankles. How they got the drop on him, you did not know; though you suspected sheer number overwhelmed him.

  This was not going to go well, you knew, but if you did not act soon Peter would be dead, and you would rather die than let that happen.

  So you would risk the odds, even if it killed you.

  You shifted your eyes to the rear-most guard, studying him intensely. The others diverted to him for orders, perked up when he spoke, and even their formation suggested he was the most important. Ambush formation - the lead car always gets hit first in an ambush. It was almost too easy. And that worried you. Perhaps the guards had merely assumed you would attack the lead first. Perhaps they assumed you captured, dead, or gone by now. Perhaps they were simply overconfident.

  Any way you looked at it, the whole situation stank of deceit, but you were running out of time. There was no time to worry about a trap, you had to act now or let Peter perish. Even had  there been a choice, it wouldn’t have been one for you.

  You were upon the guards in an instant, and chaos ensued just as your foot connected with the first guard’s face.

~

  You whirl around, trying to process the situation. You were right about the trap; on top of the ten guards surrounding Peter, four more had joined the melee armed with power suppressors and more guns than you could count. Peter wasn’t faring well, for after having attempted to help he had to back away and lean on a wall, trying to stay out of the way of any stray bullets or thrown knives.

  You slam your foot into one guard’s crotch, elbowing another effortlessly and then proceeding to swing around and disarm another, wielding the stolen gun as a club. There were cuts and bruises and graze wounds all over your body, but you felt nothing. Not that it would have stopped you much if you had.

  You turned, eyes falling on the final guard. The only one not incapacitated and disarmed. And he was aiming right for Peter.

  You leapt in front of Peter, feeling the numb sensation of a bullet entering your stomach, tearing at your insides. _His aim must be awful._ You felt no pain, for adrenaline coursing through your veins combined with your powers prevented it. Sometimes your mutant ability to feel no pain came in handy. Sometimes.

  You lunged at the final man, rotating your body in a spin and smashing your elbow into his temple. He dropped like a sack of potatoes, his gun falling to the floor next to his limp body.

“Y/N,” Peter’s voice is quiet but steady as you turn to face him, his eyes trained on your face, “Y/N.” He was bleeding from a gash on his temple and a jagged cut on his thigh he obtained during the melee. You were losing blood quickly, and you could feel yourself becoming fatigued. You moved over to Peter, yanking the collar from his neck and removing the shackles with a key you picked off of a guard.

“We need to go now,” you say, tearing pieces from both of your shirts to wrap around his leg and head, “or we won’t make it out.” He looked lightheaded and about to pass out, and you you slung his arm over your shoulder, trying to support his weight.

“Y/N, you’re bleeding.”

“I know.”

“ _Y/N!_ ” He grabs your wrists, eyes focused lightly on your face, “You got _shot_.”

“ _I know_.” Your vision was beginning to fade at the edges, and your thoughts were fuzzy. You didn’t have long, and you knew it even without the pain to tell you. “Stop arguing with me and _let’s go_.” You leaned on him as much as he leaned on you, and you began to lead him out of the base before the both of you passed out. You were finished if you ran into any more guards, and you couldn’t let that happen. You remembered from classes that it takes roughly ten minutes to pass out from blood loss alone with heavy bleeding. You glance at Peter, looking over his injuries. You estimated he had about fifteen more minutes, seeing as his injuries were less serious than yours.

  Your best chance was to make it out of the base and signal the Professor - the walls prevented any telepathic communication going in or out - for evac. Until you could get outside of the base, however, you would have to make do with keeping the both of you alive. Each breath was agonizingly difficult, but you kept pressing onward.

  There was no time to think anymore; no time to strategize and plan. There was only pure, animal instinct. And that instinct said to flee. You turned another corner, spying the door at the end of the hall. Thirty more feet. Just thirty more feet. Your vision was fading fast, faster than you’d anticipated, but blood was leaking from your stomach and you knew that if you didn’t get medical attention soon that you would die.

  You burst through the door, not caring if guards saw any longer. You could communicate with Professor X, and that was what mattered. You dragged yourself into a small space between buildings, making sure Peter was hidden from view. Then you began your message. You could feel his presence in your mind, and you use the last ounce of mental energy you have to get across that you two need out _now._

  You start to hear his response, but the world is fading around you; plunging you into darkness.

~

  Your senses were jumbled, tangled within one another to the point where you were unable to distinguish properly between real and fantasy. You didn’t know if reality was living through your wound or dying from it, if reality was Peter’s worry or his anger, if it was his hands through your hair and gripping your wrist or if it was indifference. You didn’t know if you were dead or alive or some place in between, but you knew one thing for certain.

  Peter lived. That was enough for you.

~

**Peter**

“Will Y/N be alright?” He asked, probably for the eighth time that day, his eyes searching the Professor’s face for an answer. _I’ll never forgive myself if Y/N doesn’t live. There will be nothing left for me here but emptiness._ Xavier sighed, looking at him with unreadable eyes.

“Only time will tell. Y/N has been stabilized thus far, but the battle is an uphill one, and I… am unsure of what the outcome will be.” He let out a breath, eyes darting away from the Professor and looking over at your hospital bed. The Professor looked over at him, reading the stubbornness on his face as if he was reading the pages of a book.

“Y/N… Y/N will _live_ ,” he stated firmly. It wasn’t stated as a question, or a weak attempt at denial, but as a firm, cold, hard _fact_. The Professor followed his gaze, his eyes landing on your steady breathing.

“Yes,” he said slowly, his lips curving upward in a small smile, “I believe so.”


	16. Catastrophe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Where you’re someone he’s supposed to be fighting and he knows you from his childhood?? and I’m not sure about the mutation but it somehow stops his?? And the reader and Peter are wrestling because he needs to capture you for Charles?? But the whole time the reader is making sexual innuendos and Peter finally can’t help but join in??

  You skid to a halt, balanced in the pitch darkness, listening to the silence. Your heart was pounding, your cheeks flushed from the adrenaline rush. You’d always loved this part, the thrill of the escape, of just _barely_ evading capture, only to fool your pursuers into a trap of your own. You grinned, your hair falling wildly in your face as you focused on hearing. This particular hunt had been fun, though you hadn’t chosen it. You were the prey.

  It was new territory for you; though, perhaps, not as new as one might think. Playing the prey was fun, even if your predator didn’t know you were toying with them. Especially then. You hear it at that moment, the brief warning of feet slamming onto concrete before he appeared. A brief second was enough.

  You were moving through the darkness, your silent footsteps and fluid movements letting you slide further into the darkness before he could catch you. The entire area was saturated in your power, and that made it easy. With the cover of darkness, your silent movements, and your power, you could escape practically anyone. You were a wicked catastrophe of movement and skill, and no one could stop you; not yet at least.

  You listened carefully for his footsteps, trying to predict what he would do. You’d suppressed his powers, there would be no more blitz attacks, no more appearing from nowhere. No more speed. His footsteps echoed through the building, bouncing off the walls and filling your ears. This boy just couldn’t be quiet. A smirk crossed your face as a thought flashed through your head.

  _He’s probably louder in bed._

  You shook your head, resisting the urge to laugh at your own thoughts. He _was_ attractive, and you could use that to your advantage. You focused on the room, making sure your power was still blanketing it.

  As your eyes adjusted slightly to the darkness, you searched for the flashes of silver, listened for any movement. This boy believed he could catch the country’s top hunter. Whoever sent him must have either believed your reputation was overblown or their errand boy better. Both were wrong. Wrong and foolish.

  From your perch on one of the large, metal support beams you could see the outline of the room from the pale moonlight shining through the small windows. There you waited, watching, listening. Your strike would have to be quick, decisive, and without hesitation. You almost sighed. It was a pity; whoever this was, he had been fun to run from.

“Can you just come down here and cooperate?” The voice was exasperated, grating, but you recognized it. You knew who this was, which meant he knew you. You grinned.

“Only if you stop being such a tease, baby.” You purr, your voice seeming to come from everywhere at once as it echoed through the room. You grinned, knowing it would fluster him for a minute. He would be shocked by the turned tables; he was the flirtatious one, not you. Then again, you hadn’t seen him for ten years. People change. You, especially, had changed. “Do you even know who I am, _Peter_?”

  The shocked silence told you enough. It also provided the few seconds of distraction you needed to leap. The time of playing prey was over; now you were the predator, and he the prey. Within a fraction of a second, you’d landed, vaulting from his shoulders and landing with the effortlessness of a trained gymnast. The brief, sharp pressure of your weight caused him to stumble, giving you enough time to drop to a crouch and swing your foot, knocking him off of his feet. He groaned, sighing as he lay on the ground.

“Last time I saw you, you weren’t this skilled.” There’s no anger, no annoyance, just amusement. He clicks something on his wrist, and the bright light of a flashlight burns your eyes.

“People change. To be fair, you weren’t this sexy ten years ago. If I told you you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?”

  He blanched, his loss for words written all over his face. You grin, eyes glinting. You were, perhaps, too overconfident in this situation, but not under-cautious. You had not made it this far in this life by being arrogant. Confidence in your abilities mixed with caution and intelligence had gotten you this far, and it would certainly carry you to the end. Whenever that was.

  Peter recovered quickly, shaking his head at the tactic he presumed you had chosen to throw him off.

“No.” He launched himself in a leap much like that of a panther as it leaps for its prey, and even though your reflexes were fast, they were not fast enough. You’d almost made it but his grapple caught you in the shoulder, and down you tumbled, the two of you a tangled mess of limbs and fury and confusion. “I’m not some cheap whore,” he grinned wickedly at you, and you could see he was starting to give in to your sexual humor, “you could at least take me out to dinner first.”

“Less talk, more action,” you elbowed him in the stomach, whirling around behind him as he doubled over. “You’re awfully slow, Pretty Boy.”

“It’s only polite for the man to come second,” he said, turning just in time for you to elbow him in the jaw and send him sprawling. He groaned, standing up again.

“Such a gentleman.”

“I’m not gentle, sweetheart,” he said, tackling you to the ground, “in fact, I like it rough.” You grinned at the boy hovering above you.

“Kinky, Pretty Boy. I never pegged you for the rough type.” You tried to bring your knee up, but you weren’t in the proper position to get the hit you wanted. It didn’t go unnoticed.

“Eyes on the prize, sweetheart?” You rolled your eyes.

“In your dreams, maybe.” You grabbed his shoulders, wrapped your legs around his waist, and rolled, landing on top of Peter. “If you thought I was going to be submissive, you thought wrong.”

“I already told you I like it rough, baby.” He grinned, grabbing your wrists and vaulting forward, effectively pinning you under him. “And, clearly, so do you.” You narrowed your eyes. He looked too smug for your tastes. So you do what any decent assassin attempting to seduce their prey would do. You bit his neck

  The gasp you received - whether in surprise, pleasure, or both - sent smug gratification surging through you.

“So,” you purred in his ear, “you’re that kind of guy, hm?” He swore, and you leaned back, eyebrows raised. “Is that a yes?” His cheeks flushed and you grinned. You could use this. You shifted, using the distraction to gain the upper hand and pin him down, your knees resting on his chest. “You know,” you said, cocking your head to the side, “I’m not seeing why he sent you of all people. Did that fool really believe that because I knew you that I would come willingly?” You scoff, shaking your head.

“You just found one of my kinks… and you’re asking me about my mission?” He looked almost offended. You stared at his brown eyes for a moment.

“Well I assume you aren’t here for sex.”

“Not originally,” he muttered, and you rolled your eyes.

“Still just as horny, I see.”

“You started it, baby.”

“And now I’m going to finish it.” You’d been ignoring what you’d known was coming from the moment the first words had left your mouth, but there was no ignoring it anymore. You were an expertly trained, professional assassin… and you were still in love with your high school crush. No amount of ruthless training had taken that from you, although you almost wished it had.

  You hesitated. There would be no going back from this. The choice you made here would determine everything. If you kissed him, there would be no returning to your current life. But perhaps that wasn’t such a bad thing. If you killed him, there would be no redemption. No second chances. Your hesitation gave him just enough time to turn the tables once more, rolling to the side and shoving you off of him, sending you sprawling to the floor. You blinked as his head appeared above yours, a cocky grin plastered on his face.

“Looks to me like I’m finishing it, babe.”

“Shut up.”

“Or what? You’ll make me?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Do you want me to?”

“I’d like to see you try, princess.” You flashed a wicked grin, and something changed in his face. He knew he’d just fucked up. And he knew he didn’t stand a chance.


End file.
